


Soothing an Itch

by IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels



Series: A Gentle Release [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: And sam being a caring little shit, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean is Loved, Just brotherly relations, Masochism, No Smut, No Wincest, Nonsexual kink?, Not Beta Read, Not a ship, Other, Passive-aggression, Protective Sam, Sam Cares, Subspace, and bad at feelings, they are not together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8129962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels/pseuds/IOnlyWriteKinkandFeels
Summary: Dean needs relief. Sam pretends not to notice...until he gets fed up.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_humdrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_humdrum/gifts).



> This isn't beta'd. And this is not incest. It's just non sexual masochism...ish. That being said, if you ship Wincest, you can choose to read it as that, if that's your thing. If it bothers you then you shouldn't have a problem as long as you've read the tags. Either way, it's just something I wrote for myself, so I'm not expecting anyone to like it.

Sam pretended to not notice his brother sulking over their latest hunt. It may be subtle to other people, but to Sam it was painfully clear that Dean needed relief. Relief that didn't typically come from banging a girl or getting drunk, so perhaps it's time he stepped in. 

Dean all but scowled at the open road in front of them, his mind racing through all the things "gone wrong" tonight, no doubt. Barely keeping it together and just going through the motions was something Dean excelled at, as unsettling as everyone around them found it. The older Winchester paid no mind. The group of people around them to disapprove was dwindling to nil anyhow.

Demons on Crowley's watch set up shop to draw the boys in, killing a few seemingly random vics. Simple, really. Upon recognizing the problem, they ran into the thick of battle, the Winchester way. 

"Dean, we've got to talk about this." Sam sighed, unable to stand the terse silence anymore as Dean's self hatred practically became tangible right before his very eyes.

"We aren't talking, Sam." Dean retorted, hold on Baby's wheel getting tight.

"We did the best we could. So one got away. So I got a little hurt. We- we're still alive. And we'll do better next time." Sam reasoned.

"Yeah. Yeah, Sam, do better the next time Crowley sends demons and hell hounds on our asses!" Dean scoffed.

Sam opened his mouth before he thought better of it. 

Dean's eyes flit to him for a moment. "You done? No more Chick Flick moments?" 

Sam settled into his resting bitch face with a raise of his brows, clearly not anywhere close to in the mood; mind rolling like thunder with the amount of witty sass he could hurl back. Instead, he crossed his arms, a knowing smirk on his face. Patience pays off in the end.

They arrived at the newest shitty motel in less than an hour. They walked like men with a purpose to the front desk, not a care in the world. Yet dragged their feet and nursed wounds, favoring some leg, arm, or worse upon locking their door. 

"Rock, paper, scissors for first shower?" Dean groaned through grit teeth.

"Depends. You need to be stitched up?" Sam gingerly took off his shirt, the gashes across his torso made him hiss.

Dean nearly replied, but that was before he saw the cuts on Sam's stomach. He snatches up their crudely made medical kit and walks over to him.

"We'll worry about showers later. Alright?" He murmered as he threaded the needle with steady, adrenaline rushed hands.

Sam nodded, taking his shirt completely off for better access. He hardly made a sound as he gets 39 stitches with out pause. A few breaths sucked through his teeth and an odd grunt here or there. He knew helping Dean had to come soon. The look of concentration on his face is hardly existent. Like his brother might not be home, his body going through the motions. 

"Any other problems?" Dean looked up at Sam from kneeling on the floor to be eye level for the stitches.

"No, you?" Sam replied, eyes already giving a cursatory sweep over Dean's form.

Dean shook his head. "A few bruises is all." 

 

Sam scoffed. "Let me check your ribs. You've been holding them like they're cracked."

Dean frowned but didn't object, letting his brother poke and prod at his chest and ribs, wincing only gently.

"Go shower." Sam poured a bit of whiskey over his stitches, but never bothered to brace himself, given it'd be a pitiful attempt.

Dean didn't have the energy to argue, and knew if Sam took a shower before the bleeding clotted he'd end up bleeding out anyway. He balled up a random shirt and pants in his fist and went to the bathroom. He sighed at the obnoxious yellow lighting and the odd stench of what was probably mold. 

He gave the shower a quick once over and concluded whatever mold there was, he couldn't see it. Oh well. It isn't like his showers are ever pleasant anymore, anyway. He stripped, slow and careful, his own assessment of his current range of motion. He sighed in relief at the shitty water pressure that rained down on him. At least it was hot.

His muscles started to stop aching from the strain of keeping them so tightly wound and he eventually got out. 

Dean stepped out of the bathroom to see Sam, bandaging himself up while the TV was on something completely random. Not like the two of them would pay attention to it anyway.

"Discovery Channel, you nerd?" Dean chuckled.

"Get on the bed." Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean looked suspiciously at Sam. "Why?"

"Do it or I'll make you." Sam shrugged.

"Whoa there, little brother. You can't make me do anything." Dean challenged.

Sam gave his brother a knowing look in passing, and stood up. The two of them stared at each other, in a complete stand off at first glance. Dean knew Sam enough to know to not underestimate him because of them being brothers. He also knew that his size wasn't the thing to be intimidated by.

They stood there for a tense few seconds before Sam sighed and pinned Dean to the bed before either of them could blink. Dean gaped like a fish, but couldn't really find it in himself to get out from under Sam. Not that he couldn't. But part of him didn't want to, when Sam was already hurt. And not when he knew how to help with this feeling, this itch inside himself.

They both knew Dean couldn't go down without at least pretending to fight. Maybe it was hunter's blood, or stubbornness, or just Dean not wanting to feel sorry for himself. Pinned beneath Sam, he couldn't bring himself to look at his younger brother. He swallowed back his feelings, tried to keep himself from crumbling a little longer but it was so difficult. Nearly impossible when he knew how much he needed it. 

"Dean. Look at me." Sam said.

Dean risked a glance. Then went back to staring at the wall paper across the room.

Sam shifted off of him and he felt the soft hitch of breath leave Dean before he could hear it. Dean's cheeks heated up like they'd lit holy oil on his face. Sam froze for a moment, before touching his shoulder, gentle and reassuring. 

"I know. It's okay, I'm here." Sam watched his brother avoid looking at him for rare embarrassment. 

"Where do you want to start?" Sam asked, "Or do you want me to choose?"

Dean gave no verbal reply, but turning on his stomach and lifting his shirt to reveal the bruises on his back was plenty enough of one. A complete history lay before Sam. Scars from gun shots, getting knifed, damn near getting ganked, and a brief time line of bruises. Yellows, greens, blacks, blues, purples, and angry reds begged for the weight of his fingers. 

He started with a bruise he suspected was four days old, stroking his finger down the length of it. He felt Dean shudder beneath him just slightly. He pressed against it with two fingers, adding pressure a bit at a time, other hand never leaving Dean's shoulder.

Dean let out a soft sigh. Sam wouldn't have heard if he weren't making a point of making sure he's receptive. He pressed harder, digging what little nail he had into it, kneaded the patch of Dean's skin like dough. Then he did the same to a slightly newer one. And again, and again. He took his time, if only to monitor Dean.

He already seemed to be drifting away, eyes scrunched up tight and breathing hitching every time Sam pinched, scratched, or dug in just right. It felt good to help, even if this wasn't really something he enjoyed doing. It was for Dean and that was enough. God knows they've had less appealing things thrust upon them. Sam gave a small smirk. At least he chose to do this. 

"The new ones, Sammy. I know they're back there." Dean mumbled into the bedding.

Sam scoffed but complied anyway, firmly planting a thumb into the darkest bruise. The grunt he got in return was enough to encourage this behaviour. Scraping and clawing at his brother beneath him didn't feel so wrong anymore, even if Dean sounded outright scandalous. Well, for a Winchester, anyway. 'At least niether one of us is taking it up the ass.' He reasons with himself.

Dean is taking in a few deep breaths, filling his lungs to capacity and emptying them at seemingly random moments. He sounds like hes holding in tears, but they both know better. He had a death grip on the sheets, letting out little grunts and sighs every so often, the tenderness of his ribs only heightening the sensations. 

The floaty feeling inside his head is coming to him already. It's the best physical feeling Dean's ever had. It feels like the afterglow of sex. Like peace and the closest to happiness he's sure he'll ever get. It's better than the adrenaline rushes when it's go time and he and Sam have to gank things. It feels like letting go.

"C'mon, Bitch, put y'r back into it." He slurred out. 

Sam gave an affectionate snort and slapped a bruise out of pure pettiness. "Shut up, Jerk."

Dean smirked and pretended to scoff, but let out a shaky breath when Sam used a bit more muscle. He was grateful for Sam to understand and help this feeling inside him. Even if sometimes he couldn't say it, or even find the words to. The whole thing was embarrassing and awkward at first, despite not breaching the top hundred onbeing the weirdest problem they faced. Dean let himself remember as he felt his hold on the sheets start to loosen.

They hadn't had a hunt in weeks. They'd just given John a hunter's funeral and everything hurt. Nothing could make this right. His father died for him and he was the one who should be a pile of ashes right now. What is he supposed to do? 

Sam finds a case in a podunk town of a place Dean could care less about. He knows all the hotels are shitty anyway so why bother remembering the places they've been by name? Sam does it for him, practically. 

They arrive late at night and hit a bar. No matter how much he drinks Dean can't get the itch out of his skin. It gets more and more insistent with time and he doesn't know what to do about it. And then some asshat decides to bother this Chick who's clearly giving "my sign is Stop" signals.

Dean fights said asshat. He ignores how obvious it is when and where the other guy is going to hit. Hitting something, being hit, it felt good. The itch was less of a bother by the time he has the dick on the floor drowning in his own vomit. Cheers and praise and women all around but he doesn't care. He brushes it all off under the cover of modesty, and leaves with Sam shortly after.

"You sure you're alright man?" Sam asks.

"Fine." 

"You seem a little antsy." Sam reasoned. 

"I'm fine. If you want to turn this into a Chick flick, fine. Buy me pie, you get some icecream, we'll get to the motel and braid each other's hair. Watch the Sisterhood or something." Dean snarked. 

Sam gave a look Dean knew all to well. "I'm pissed at you and I'm a sassy little(big) shit but you can't ignore this cute."

He looked over, annoyed. "What? Not girly enough for you?"

"I'll be here if you want to talk, is all." He said before turning his gaze out of the window.

Dean sighed through his nose before averting his eyes to the road again. The rest of the drive was silent. And passive agressive, but that's a bit typical. 

The room has a funkier smell than usual but not the worst. Like not quite aired out sex, and worse. Dean flops on a bed immediately, his wounds from fighting not quite sore yet as much as a dull thud. Sam took the precautionary measure of sniffing his sheets and pillows, they weren't the source, so he was fine.

"C'mon, Sammy, don't be afraid of the mysteries." Dean smirked.

Sam gave Dean a look. "Excuse me for being skeptical, Mr. Dive on a bed that smells like sex and old take out." 

"Find what little beauty you can in shit holes like these. Even if they are disgusting." He shrugged. 

"Have fun." Sam scoffed as he went for a shower.

Dean waited until he heard the water running before he'd lift his shirt to look at the damage. A few bruises on his gut and chest. A few when the guy was flailing on his arms. He puts his fingers to one and presses deep. A sharp pain makes his breath hitch but it definitely isn't all bad. He knows Sam takes longer showers anyway, so he let's himself indulge.

Twenty glorious minutes he has alone. It hurts but in the best way possible. The itch was gone. His head is so clear. Or maybe it's so fuzzy he doesn't know the difference. It just feels damn good and he doesn't want it to stop, his world narrowing to a population of one.

"Dean?" 

He startled, yanking his shirt down.

"What are you doing?" Sam crossed the room, tossing his clothes on his bed before stopping at Dean's.

He yanked the shirt up to see the bruises. Dean is too zoned out to be fast or perceptive enough to stop him in time.

"You should've let me help" He mumbles, almost to himself.

Dean is uncharacteristically quiet. Sam sees the bruises have been agitated and frowns, but then realization dawns.

"You were messing with them? Why?"

Dean shrugged, words were hard right now. "Feels g'd." He slurred.

Sam thought for a few moments, taking it in. "This isn't a sex thing, right?" 

Dean laughed at the pure preposterousness of the question, a fleeting scoff as he shook his head. "N' jus' feels good." 

"Dean, go to sleep." Sam frowned.

He didn't object. Maybe he could have a good night's sleep for once like this.

When he woke up, Sam was eating breakfast, his laptop in front of him. "Hey. Did some research."

"On our case? We haven't even been able to investigate it yet. We got here after the morgue and everything day job people do closed." Dean sat up in bed.

"No. About what I caught you doing last night."

"What? Why?" Dean tried to hide his embarrassment.

"The body releases endorphins to help under times of pain and duress. So maybe that's why you felt so "g'd" last night. Or, you're a masochist. Maybe both." Sam shrugged.

"Gonna pretend we never had this conversation." Dean pulled out a bottle from God knows where, and takes a sip.

"Haven't seen you that relaxed before. So I don't mind it. Just as long as it isn't a sex thing." 

"It isn't. Now get dressed, I'm gonna shower." Dean slammed the bathroom door behind him.

The case points to some vengeful spirit, and Dean just wanted it over with.

"I'll go search the records for strange deaths when we get home." Sam sighed. 

"Yeah, alright." Dean mumbled, one hand on Baby's wheel and the other pressing against his stomach.

Sam takes notice but turns his head. He knows when to choose his battles. But he knows Dean does this the entire 20 minute drive back to the motel. He noticed how hesitant he is to take the hand pressing through his suit jacket away. He knew Dean seems to practically be lucid by the time they park and walk to their door, despite him not looking much different than usual.

Dean stripped out of his suit quickly, back in the familiar flannel in what seems like a blink of an eye. Sam followed suit, the two of them not even bothering to acknowledge the other undressing.

Sam notices Dean flops on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a thousand yard stare. He waits. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes before he sits on the bed with him. Dean doesn't even move to look at him. Maybe he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open. Sam decided an experiment is in order. 

He poked his shoulder. Dean looks at him, waiting for something. Sam smirked, to which Dean just kept staring at the ceiling. Sam pressed the spot on Dean's stomach he saw him touch in the car. Dean jolted, blushing and defensive.

"What the hell, Sam?" He shouted.

"Can you blame a guy for being curious, Dean?"

"Really?" Dean tried to roll over on his side.

"Yes." Sam halted his brother mid turn, forcing him on his back again.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean growls.

"This." Sam presses into the bruise again with his knuckles.

Dean let out an embarrassing gasp at that. His freckles got more pronounced as he tried to move away. Sam wasn't having it though. 

"You said it wasn't a sex thing. And I read that it might be better if you had help. At least try it once." He pressed the wound again, deeper this time; He braved a glance at Dean's crotch, relieved to find his brother's junk flaccid.

Dean shuddered. "What are you so Gung ho about this for?" 

"You're allergic to talking about your feelings and this seems to help you better than getting drunk anyway. So, I definitely am on board as long as you aren't seriously hurt. You like bruises it looks like, I don't know if I'm willing to go farther than that though." Sam reasoned as he rolled his knuckles around his brother's stomach.

"Just because I don't broadcast my feelings like radio doesn't mean I'm allergic, you ass." Dean managed to sound like he wasn't mortified and like this wasnt awkward.

"Uh huh, keep telling yourself that." The sarcasm rolled off Sam in waves. "Lift up your shirt." 

Dean didn't hesitate. As embarrassing as it was, it felt so good he almost didn't care eventually. Sam paid attention to every bruised piece of him and made him feel like for once, it could be alright to let go for just a little while.

Dean was brought back to the present by Sam's voice. "You mean a lot to me Dean. To Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and pretty much anyone who's ever been tossed into this lifestyle, I'll bet. Even Rufus." 

Dean's jaw wouldn't work and his tongue was like lead. He couldn't do much but give a soft grunt in reply. He didn't know what to do with Sam, but God knows the kid helped him keep it together. He owed it to the kid to let him ramble.

"How many people do you think we've saved? And how many do you think you saved by yourself? I had a break when I went to college. And you still hunted even then. You could've gone and went to school too, but you wanted to help people. Dean, you aren't the selfish prick you make yourself out to be." Sam holds back that he was always the selfish one. Instead, he safely continues his train of thought, rambly as it may be, his hands still at work absentmindedly.

"You're a hero, De. More than people would ever know. More than you yourself do. To save all the people we have, with dad, on your own, with me, and to never ask for anything in return is…amazing. Outsanding. You deserve more than this."

Judging from the stillness, Dean was seconds away from sleep, peaceful and serene.

Sam chuckled. "You have no idea how much more."

Sam took these moments when words were hard for Dean to congratulate him on being himself. To tell him he isn't the person John made him out to be. And that all of their friends and family, dead or not are proud of them, but Dean in particular. He hopes maybe one day he'll believe it. But until then, he was happy to do this.

"We love you, De."

**Author's Note:**

> Hoped you enjoyed.


End file.
